


Shawn Gets Crushed (Out)

by sebviathan



Series: if it's all right, then you're all wrong [4]
Category: Psych
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon Dialogue, Episode Tag, M/M, highkey sexual energy but nothing explicit, romanticized crime, s05e05 shawn and gus in drag (racing), shawn is so full of love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 09:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11228235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebviathan/pseuds/sebviathan
Summary: Shawn knows that he has a bit of a habit of falling in love with total strangers very quickly. His heart is big and there’s just always room for more—it’s why he rarely ever goes on a second date, and why it takes him so very long to realize when his feelings have become, as they say, “real.”But he also knows, within a minute of meeting him, that Tommy is a special case.





	Shawn Gets Crushed (Out)

**Author's Note:**

> This is TECHNICALLY canon-compliant, and I 100% believe something along these lines happened, but I still like to imagine that this fic exists in a better, gayer version of the show. 
> 
> It's also entirely Shawn's POV which is why I took so goddamn long to write it.

Shawn knows that he has a bit of a habit of falling in love with total strangers very quickly. His heart is big and there's just _always_ room for more—it's why he rarely ever goes on a second date, and why it takes him _so_ very long to realize when his feelings have become, as they say, "real."

But he also knows, within a minute of meeting him (and without yet knowing his name), that Tommy is a special case.

That is, so rarely does Shawn meet someone that _cool_ , or someone looking straight out of one of his fantasies—both teenage _and_ modern. Like a latino Val Kilmer.

Latino Val Kilmer drives in, tosses his keys impossibly precisely onto the key rack, and promptly steals Shawn's heart.

After an entrance like that, it is _far_ too easy for Shawn to talk to him, and to feel his heart beat faster at the way this guy's eyes light up at his jokes, the way he grins... the way he seems—though perhaps only due to Shawn's own arrogance—to be similarly entranced with him.

He knows, of course, that this is a dangerous group of people, that even if none of them are Max's killer they _are_ certainly criminals. But he himself isn't exactly a perfect law-abiding citizen, and there always has been something... _romantic_ about settings like this.

At least in the movies he watches.

"If you can find the race, happy to see you there," the guy tells him, sounding like he's especially _hoping_ to.

Shawn would be lying if he said it was merely the case motivating him to get the address from Gina's phone.

Though he can't imagine that Gus would think to ask, or that his tragically heterosexual best friend even has any clue how deep his admiration already goes.

 

*

 

Shawn is definitely no stranger to staring death in the face, especially not in the brand of a very stereotypical-looking gang about to beat his ass to a pulp. At this point it's too common to be a genuinely scary experience anymore, and it's only that much more thrilling when it is—because _then_ he gets to say something like "don't hit me unless you wanna give me a boner" to get himself out of it.

As often as Shawn is met with people who want to kick his smart mouth in, though, it sure has been a while since someone else came along and saved him the trouble.

Especially in a manner which he mostly just sees in movies.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey!" says a man stepping in-between Shawn and the guy who's probably about to cut him—who Shawn recognizes as Latino Val Kilmer. "Chill out, man."

The guy tries to bum-rush past him anyway, and Shawn coils in on himself to avoid damage to his face, but LVK is strong enough to stand his ground and push him back and further away from Shawn.

"Chill out! Alright—you're not gonna do nothing, you're gonna turn around, you're gonna walk _outta here_ , you understand?"

LVK is shorter than this guy, doesn't even look much more muscular than him, but... miraculously, he backs off. Doesn't necessarily look scared so much as like he knows he doesn't have any other choice.

In that moment, Shawn is distinctly aware that he was just protected by a Very Big Deal in this community. He tries not to appear terribly starstruck, or otherwise rattled by what just happened.

"Side note," he says casually, just as LVK and his crew start to turn around. "That guy would have killed me."

"Yeah," LVK laughs. "Quickly and _quietly_."

"My body turns up in a ditch somewhere..."

"Nah, they would've never found your body."

"No body. Hm."

This is some of the weirdest flirting he's ever done, but the craziest part is that he can even tell that's what it is.

"And yet—" He grins, making Shawn's heart skip a beat—"You didn't back down!"

"Well you know, I don't really like to, um..." Shawn uselessly gestures, unable to come up with the phrase—

"Think ahead," LVK finishes for him.

"Yes!" God, that's satisfying.

"I understand that approach well," he tells Shawn, still smiling.

Shawn breathes a laugh and smiles back, and he knows for a fact that he would just keep on smiling and staring given the opportunity.

"...You found the race."

He puts his arms out. "Here I am!"

"You know, I won't say I'm not impressed."

"You're awesome," Shawn can't stop himself from saying, breathless. "You have a great crew— _you_ look like Flea," he says to one of his crew members, and then waves them over to come see his dad's shitty, unimpressive truck.

Of course, LVK is still into all this—into _him_ , and he's still grinning just as much as Shawn is.

Just before they set their cars up to race, Shawn stops him and finally asks him,

"Hey man—what's your name? I need to get your name down so I know what to write in the asphalt with my tires when I _win_ this thing."

He throws his head back and laughs, then slaps a hand down on Shawn's shoulder.

"Tommy. Tommy Nix."

"Man, even your _name_ is cool...," he mutters, slightly outside himself. Tommy seems to think that's funny.

"How about yours, Shawn?" he asks. "Last name, I mean. So _I_ know what to write in the asphalt when _I_ win."

Unthinkingly, he outright tells him,

"Spencer. Shawn Spencer."

 

*

 

Shawn is no stranger to coming close to death by merely his own impulsive, reckless nature, either, but he has to say it's been a while since he got this kind of a thrill from it.

He almost even forgets that the point of building a rep is for the _case_ , and yet any danger and anything that Gus says to him in the following day is _completely_ worth Tommy's approval in the moment.

Then it comes back to him.

"We live on the edge, Tommy," Shawn shouts out the truck window.

"...You know, I thought you were a lot of talk," he says.

"We _are_ all talk-"

"No, we're not! Gus, we're not—we're aaaaallll action."

Tommy smiles, seeming plenty convinced of it.

"Listen, we're having a party tomorrow night at the shop. You make me laugh—you two should come."

"We'll be there, man," Shawn tells him, making no effort to hide his happiness—neither to Tommy and his crew, or to Gus after they drive away.

"I'm still not forgiving you for this, Shawn. While you were showing off to your new boyfriend, I nearly pissed myself!"

He doesn't even try to deny it—at the same time that he doesn't want to get too hopeful.

 

*

 

They catch sight of Tommy soon after walking in the place, at which Shawn gets on his tippy-toes and waves to him like a kindergartener would to a friend across the playground.

"Don't forget Lassiter gave us six hours to get a suspect," Gus mutters, nudging him a bit harshly on the shoulder.

"You know I only need one of those hours," Shawn reminds him, still waving Tommy over. "We have plenty of time."

"Hey! Glad you made it," he says when he stops in front of them, holding his arm out for one of those informal handshake-high-five hybrids that only _cool_ people do, and which lets Shawn know he and Gus are most certainly in with them now.

Gus nails it without even trying, and Shawn fumbles just slightly (from his mind being elsewhere) but plays it off.

"And bump it— _right_ , and... shark."

He doesn't have to be facing Gus to know that his friend is rolling his eyes— _no one_ has done the shark thing after a handshake since middle school. But Tommy is still entertained, and he slaps Shawn good-naturedly on the waist and otherwise gives him much more attention than he does to Gus.

"The comedy train never stops with this guy, does it?" he laughs, then starts leading them in. "Hey, you guys thirsty? I got a pretty good bartender over here—Caruso! Hand me that bottle of scotch, and give these guys whatever they want, no charge."

"You, sir, have a cool-ass name," Shawn promptly says to Caruso. Even Gus can't be unimpressed by that. "I will have a... cherry vodka and coke, and Miss Whiddleberry right here would like a fireball—"

"It's _G-Force_ ," Gus says, throwing Shawn a glare. "And I'll just have a beer."

"Wow, Gus," Shawn starts to say—

"Hey, no shame in that, Whiddleberry. Someone's gotta be the designated driver, right?" Tommy takes a drink right out of the bottle, re-corks it, and leads them on once they've got their solo cups.

"Alright, now listen," he continues. "When you're with _me_ , what's mine is yours."

Shawn hurries to finish swallowing his mouthful of cherry vodka coke.

"Can I have that, uh, puka shell necklace?"

Once again, Tommy laughs, but finishes off with saying no.

" _No_ , 'cause—I was... kidding." ...And he's gone. Shawn takes a gulp of his disgusting drink to make up for the surge of embarrassment.

Onto this case, he supposes.

 

*

 

Shawn may not be one for thinking ahead, but Gus refuses to allow a repeat of yesterday happening. Especially now that _both_ of them are at risk of getting their asses kicked.

...And going by what Gus considers to be "safe" but simultaneously in-character questioning, it's difficult to know who's more likely to have killed Max. Shawn can only really look for a certain kind of reaction when they can only be so vague, and... no one has had a particularly guilty vibe, yet.

Meanwhile he already knows that Gina must be involved somehow, but there's no telling for sure if she's a murderer, and he can't find out for sure either way because it's already been proven impossible to get close to her without Tommy as a buffer.

And he can't exactly call Tommy over to ask him to get Gina to talk to him. Like that wouldn't be suspicious as hell.

So Shawn and Gus are stuck milling around for a while. They really don't look too out of place, especially with Tommy's open approval and Shawn's general attitude, but Gus repeatedly mentions that they "don't belong here."

That is, until a relatively cute girl sidles her way next to them.

"Hey," she says, body language far more forward than Shawn is used to.

He starts to open his mouth, but then it becomes clear she's only talking to Gus. Can't blame her, though—Gus's shiny dome can be like catnip for women.

Gus, of course, immediately goes into player mode and gives his signature " _Hello_ " that seems to get this girl.

"I like your jacket!" It's not _that_ cool of a jacket. "My name's Xena, what's yours?"

_Alright, Xena's a pretty cool name. Weirdly close to 'Gina,' though._

"Gus—but people call me _G-Force_."

" _I_ call him Miss Whiddleberry," Shawn buts in, leaning forward so he can see Xena's awkward expression. Gus promptly smacks him away, hard enough that it almost hurts.

"Don't listen to him, he's just messing with me," Gus tells her quickly, like he's afraid she'll run away. And then, to top it off with irony, "You wanna go get a drink? It's on me."

Without even giving him a sorry look, Gus is off with a girl who—judging by her demeanor—is probably going to break his heart in the span of the next twenty minutes. It's whatever, Shawn figures. Maybe Gus will learn his lesson this time.

He at least doesn't have to worry about milling about alone because within the minute, there's a hand slapping down on his shoulder from behind, and he's being spun around to the _very_ pleasant surprise of Tommy's slightly inebriated face.

"Shawn!—what happened to your friend?"

Still coming down from the mini heart-attack (the good kind) that Tommy gave him, Shawn takes a second to remember exactly what _did_ happen to him.

"Oh—Whiddleberry just abandoned me for a girl named _Xena_. Like the warrior princess. Sounds too good to be true, honestly."

"I know her," Tommy says, mouth twitching into a smirk. "It's just a nickname, like most in this crowd—think her real name is Joan or something."

"Huh." Shawn lets out a short laugh. "So how do _you_ know her real name?"

"We had a one-night stand a few years back and I saw her driver's license," he shrugs. Shawn has to wonder how many of these people Tommy has slept with, but at the same time he does _not_ want to ask.

"...I've gone by 'Torch' in some circles," Shawn lies, "and occasionally 'Paul Walker 2: Electric Boogaloo'—but ultimately... I think just _Shawn_ by itself holds more weight as long as I _do_ whatever I need to keep up the rep, you know?"

Tommy is nodding slowly, with his lips stretching into an open grin. Shawn's breath hitches, watching it.

"Yeah. Yeah, I _do_ know, and I absolutely agree, man. Though... I'll let you in on a little secret,"—he leans in—"Nix isn't my real last name."

"Oh." Shawn frowns. "Is your real last name embarrassing or something?"

"Now _that_ , you are _never_ going to find out." He laughs in a way that's a little bit frightening, which then makes Shawn excited. And then looks down and notices, because he's close enough, "Hey, your cup's empty and you look _way_ too sober. Wanna go get a refill?"

Shawn couldn't say no even if he wanted to—not with Tommy's hand in between his shoulder blades, guiding him back to the makeshift bar, not with Tommy ordering _for_ him this time (which excites him even more), and _definitely_ not when the alcohol is free.

He rationally knows that he shouldn't be drinking anything too hard while on a case, but he can't disappoint Tommy by not enjoying it, let alone be _rude_ to him by refusing it altogether. Besides, he should have plenty of time to sober up later.

He downs it all in about two gulps, trying to avoid the burn of whatever kind of whiskey that was. And Tommy laughs.

"Gross, right?"

Shawn feels a wave of relief that he can be honest. "It's the fucking _worst_."

"But the buzz comes fast, and that's what matters!"

Tommy pointedly takes a long drink of his own bottle, then offers it to Shawn. Now, he thinks he has to refuse.

"Lemme have a few months to get over the holes it burnt in my esophagus, then maybe I'll have another go."

He leans against the cold cement wall of the shop, trying to do just that, while Tommy sets the bottle aside. When he opens his eyes, the guy is leaning on the other wall of this exclusive corner he's led them to, smiling in that kind of impressed way again.

"...You're pretty smart, aren't you, Shawn?"

"Oh." It's been a while since he heard anything like that. "Well, I guess you could—"

"And _modest_ about it, too—not something I expected, based on... everything else. But I mean—you seem like you're educated, and... like you probably didn't even have to try in school, so people expected too much from you and then you burnt out and stopped caring?"

Shawn blinks. All the alcohol that he just put in his system makes it feel slow and surreal.

"Wow. That's... pretty much spot-fucking-on, dude."

Now he laughs in disbelief and amazement, as he can't remember the last time someone read him so definitively and openly. Part of him wonders if his feelings are starting to enter the "real" territory.

"Well, don't be too impressed," Tommy tells him. He looks like the way Shawn is feeling. "I only guessed because I had basically the same thing happen to me. But... I'm not gonna lie, I can tell you're quicker-witted than I am. And it sounds like you just know and remember a lot in general, and... I'm just thinking that, with Max gone, you'd be a great addition to my crew. It'd be nice to have a guy like you come along with me."

 _With me,_ he said. Not 'us.' _Me_.

"Come along where?" Shawn thinks to ask. His voice feels light in his chest.

Tommy shrugs. "Wherever I wind up going. New street-racing venues, parties in other cities, whatever. What, you have obligations here or something?"

Something in him drops like a weight because he _absolutely_ does, he has _so_ many things and especially people that he could not bear to leave, not permanently, some not _ever_ _—_

But most of his body seems to remember that he is undercover, because he doesn't think he gives anything away.

"Not... particularly, it's just—"

"You got a lady?" he asks, looking pre-emptively disappointed.

"No, I don't," Shawn assures him, which is easy because it's the absolute truth.

Somehow, for all he's not-so-secretly been hoping, he doesn't expect what comes out of Tommy's mouth next.

"...You got a boyfriend?"

That should be just as simple to answer, but Shawn finds himself hesitating to put the word together. Maybe he has a particular guy in mind, maybe he's just overwhelmed with excitement—he tries not to think about it, and simply breathes, and smiles, and licks his lips—

And says, "Nope."

Tommy takes that as the obvious invitation that it is and steps forward—and instead of suggesting that they go out back or otherwise ditch the party or something of that nature, he just curls his hand around Shawn's side and kisses him. Right here, against the wall, where plenty of people could see if they only turned their heads. Where _Gus_ could see.

Shawn is no stranger to open flirtation and innuendo, but it is so, _so_ rare for him to do something like this in public with another man.

If nothing else, he always has a pretty good reason to be afraid to do this in public. And he absolutely _is_ afraid right now, however much he's wanted to do this within _minutes_ of meeting Tommy, however much he's stared at Tommy's lips _because Tommy's lips are so pink and full and NICE and_ _—_

And he does things that scare him all the time, so why should this be any different?

Tommy presses so close against him that he can probably feel how hard Shawn's heart is beating, and subsequently how quickly he's getting hard—and Shawn can feel the same.

No one is even _muttering_ slurs in their direction, as far as Shawn can hear. Either this is a surprisingly queer-friendly community or Tommy has some serious standing with these people.

God, that makes his heart beat even harder.

Tommy's stubble scrapes against his, and his hands find Shawn's ass, and Shawn can't help but gasp, and then Tommy's tongue is in his mouth.

And... and he is making out with a walking wet dream, like a fucking teenager, against the wall of this party where he is supposed to be investigating a murder. And he couldn't bring himself to mind if he wanted to—

Because it's _hot_. It's easily in the top three hottest things that's ever happened to him—Shawn is clutching at Tommy's back and letting Tommy squeeze his ass like he owns it, and he's getting kissed so expertly that he's letting out _moans_ , and he is sporting absolutely the worst erection he's ever had while surrounded by so many people... And even with all of these people—even with his previous fear, he feels like he'd let Tommy do absolutely anything to him right now.

Shawn thinks Tommy might actually be ready to do anything and _everything_ to him, too. He's so deeply into it that he doesn't even register his phone ringing, and it's in fact Tommy who has to pull away—for the first time in the past few minutes—and ask him if Wreckx-N-Effect's _Rumpshaker_ is coming from him.

"Oh, um—"

Seeing Tommy's face and kiss-bitten lips after being the one to do that to him is utterly jarring, and captivating... but _something_ rational snaps itself into place and makes him reach for his phone.

It's Gus, which means that the guy has been looking for him and _can't find him_ _—_ for which Shawn thanks not only God, but also Jesus.

Because Gus has been looking for him, though, along with many other reasons which include _Gus being his best friend_ , he is not going to ignore this call in favor of potential sex with Tommy.

"Gotta get this, sorry— _Hey, buddy_ ," Shawn says as he accepts the call, immediately regretting how obvious he probably sounds. "I guess it didn't work out with Xena?"

"She wanted me for a threesome with another dude who looks _unnervingly_ similar to me," Gus says, just barely getting his voice over the music.

"Well, _I_ could have told you that, Gus."

"Whatever, I'm over it. Where are you?"

"I'm... you know what, just meet up with me by the bar."

Gus agrees, and Shawn hangs up and looks back to Tommy, who has a knowing expression.

"Let me guess, he doesn't know you're—?"

"He doesn't _not_ know," Shawn feels the need to clarify. "He's just not... intimate... with that knowledge."

Tommy looks like he understands, and not even like he's all that upset when he steps back to let him go. Instead, he gives him the _we'll meet up later_ eyes, and Shawn walks away feeling the craziest mixture of disappointment and relief he's ever felt in his life.

 

* * *

 

"They say that when you're going that fast, that's when you really know what it is to be alive. It's pure adrenaline. It's—it's not about the speed and checkered flags, anybody with the right engine and enough horsepower can do that... It's about _freedom_ and barriers. You tell me I can't do something, I'm gonna show you that I _can_. Or I'm gonna die trying."

If Shawn wasn't himself, he'd think that all that was coming from his own voice. He nods slowly to Tommy's entire speech, feeling it so much harder than just agreeing for the sake of his character and his rep.

"Adrenaline," Tommy continues, after a long pause. "That's God's greatest gift."

"How close did you get?" The question seems to shoot out of his lungs.

"187." Tommy looks a little breathless and it reminds him of earlier. "I could almost taste it."

"You want the ultimate thrill? You gotta be willing to pay the ultimate price," Shawn quotes effortlessly.

"Point Break— _Nice_ ," he laughs

Shawn takes a deep, quick breath. "I think you should go for it, man. Do whatever it takes."

Tommy raises his glass, and Shawn raises his solo cup, and they share a look and each take a drink—and then Shawn suddenly remembers that they're not the only ones in this room. And that, more importantly, he _still_ needs to get a solid suspect for Max's murder.

Gina's been awful quiet, he realizes.

 

*

 

Juliet escorts Gina away, and Shawn may be a little shaken from just getting a kick to the face but he still knows Lassiter isn't grabbing his arm out of necessity, he can _see_ the protective glint in his eye—

Which is jarring enough by itself, having barely thought about Lassie at all these past couple days, and then he sees Tommy's face across the empty shop.

Confused, with a hint of betrayal.

Shawn has absolutely _no_ desire to convince himself that he was only in this for the case, or that he wouldn't feel incredibly guilty letting Tommy think what they had wasn't real. At the same time, he feels a pang of guilt for this whole Tommy _thing_ in its entirety. Regardless, he goes back into Street Racer Shawn mode and jerks away as quickly as he can.

"Get your hand off me, Cop!"

Lassiter, probably just too used to Shawn's all-around flamboyance and melodrama for the past four years, barely reacts.

"Punch me in the face," Shawn whispers.

"What?"

Is Lassie really this jaded by him?

"You're gonna blow my cover, now _punch me in the face_."

"I'm not gonna punch you in the face!" he whispers back, which is probably the most surprising thing that Lassiter has ever said.

He doesn't have enough time to wonder _why the fuck not_ before shuffling quickly through Things That Get Lassie Heated In A Pinch and deciding on,

"Abraham Lincoln was a terrible president."

" _You son of a bitch_ _—_ _!_ "

Even faster than he anticipated, Lassie's fist collides with his jaw, so hard that his entire body spins around from the force of it. An unbearable heat immediately pools in the top of his head and below his stomach, and after hitting the ground he's too delirious to know whether it was convincing to Tommy and his crew.

 

*

 

Shawn actually feels relieved when he realizes that Gina couldn't have been the murderer, because that means he has an excuse to see Tommy again.

He supposes that he'll have to make something up about the police letting him go, say something like "they were grilling me for information about Max and Gina—I think _they_ think Gina's the one who killed him." And then gauge the reactions from there. It should be easier to get the truth now, even.

And maybe he'll be able to give Tommy a proper goodbye before inevitably never seeing him again. Though he's trying not to think about that too hard yet.

Gus, meanwhile, seems to believe that he's already cracked it.

"Alright, Sher-black-lock. If it wasn't Gina, who was it?"

"It's obvious, Shawn. It's Tommy."

"Gus, don't be the second drummer from 38 Special," he says, deeply offended at the very notion. "It _clearly_ wasn't Tommy."

" _Why_ are you not getting this?" Gus asks before Shawn can get another word in. "These guys are like the mafia, and Tommy's a street-racing Don Corleone. There's a code of honor, and Max broke it when he stole that car."

He absolutely cannot deny that, particularly because he remembers finding it pretty goddamn thrilling to be making out with _Street Racing Don Corleone_ last night. But being dangerous doesn't automatically mean he murdered Max.

"It easily could have been one of the other dudes—Stig, _obviously_ in love with Gina. Juice Box, they didn't trust the bastard—!"

"Shawn, it's Tommy, you _know_ it, _he_ was the one driving Gina's car!"

Shawn leans back in his desk and smiles, feeling a real kind of anger rise up.

"Why is everyone suddenly breaking down this case but me?"

"Because you won't!" Gus says, then gets out of his own desk and stands up. "And worse still, you broke the first rule of undercover work—you got too close. You've gone all Point Break."

The funny part of that is, not only has he literally been thinking about that movie for this whole case, but he knows he's gotten closer times _twenty_ in a way that he can't possibly let Gus know. Or maybe that's the especially shitty part. They're often indistinguishable.

If it _wasn't_ the shitty part, what _is_ is that the moment he storms out of the Psych office to avoid Gus's grilling... he sees Stig and Juice Box and Tommy only feet away, all holding guns.

They don't even say a word, but simply nod to the door. Shawn barely has time to feel heartbroken before turning right back around.

"Hands down, worst stormer-outer ever," Gus says—before he notices.

Tommy walks in last, clearly having gone a little slowly so he can check out the place. Ironically enough, he looks just as impressed with Shawn now as he did when they first met.

"Psychic detective? That's pretty cool," he laughs, taking a seat on the edge of Shawn's desk. "You must've seen some wild stuff."

"Oh, you have no idea," Shawn starts without thinking. "Once there was this shark, actually it was—"

" _Shawn,_ " Gus stops him.

 _Oh._ "...Right. This kills me to say, but—Tommy, you are a thief... and you are a murderer."

God, this part of the case is usually fun—even in the past times he got close to the murderer before realizing. He honestly doesn't want to continue at all. So he tries to hurry up and just get through it.

"We know you killed Max, you pinned it on Gina, and you almost managed to bamboozle _me_ with your incredible awesomeness!"

" _Almost?_ " says Gus, reminding him that his friend has been right this whole time.

"Sorry, dude, I will never doubt you again."

"Now who's a liar?"

" _Touche_ _—_ Listen," Shawn says, turning back to Tommy. "It's over. We got you. You can't kill everyone."

Tommy turns to his boys and laughs. Shawn hates that he can't just be disgusted by that laugh yet.

"Yeah, you're right," he says. "Max used the car as, uh... an insurance policy against me coming after him. He thought I wouldn't risk destroying something that meant so much to me, but... He just didn't know me as well as he thought he did."

It might still just be his own arrogance, but Shawn has a feeling that Tommy is talking about more than just Max and the car. Tommy goes on,

"I'm not one to lose, ever. He was sloppy, so he had to go. As for Gina... eventually they're gonna figure out that she's innocent. But by then I'll be long gone. So unfortunately, that just leaves one thing to do before I leave."

Almost immediately, Shawn remembers what Tommy said last night, at the party. About freedom and barriers and doing whatever people say he can't. And god, _of course_ _—_

Of course he's going to try to steal the lamborghini again, and of course Tommy is still impressed with him (but in a far different way), _of course_ Tommy wants to use him to get it... Of course Tommy is going to threaten Gus's life to get him to do it.

This is playing out _so_ much like Point Break that he's pissed at himself for not seeing it before.

He has to think that part of him knew it all along but was blinded by his tendency to romanticize, to get too close too easily... to fall in love with every marginally interesting person he meets. The worst part is that he still knows that Tommy is a special case.

"Stig, Juice Box, why don't you take Whiddleberry out to the car so I can have a private word with our psychic," he says.

Shawn maintains eye contact with Gus as long as he can, hoping he can convey how sorry he is. Then, once they're out of the office, he decides that he's going to get the first word in.

"I get it, you're afraid to ask me in front of your boys—but if you must know... I use Redken For Men. And about ten minutes of careful combing. And of course _luck_ _—_ hair like this can _only_ come naturally, really..."

He trails off as he realizes that Tommy has been moving forward until all but uncomfortably close, and there's really no telling whether that's out of anticipation or fear. At this point he hopes, at least, that it's the latter.

For a few intense seconds, Shawn just stares at him, not wanting to be the one to back away, but also hoping to God and Jesus that Tommy doesn't do what he _thinks_ Tommy's going to do.

What Tommy does, after a moment, is smirk and pull a scrap of paper out of his pocket, which he holds in front of Shawn's eyes with two fingers.

"That's the address of the warehouse you're going to drive the lamborghini to."

Shawn takes it and shoves it in his own pocket without breaking eye contact, and asks,

"How'd you find my office?"

"Well, you're so smart I'd have thought you'd remember," he says with a raised eyebrow. Then he laughs. "You gave me your full, real name on the night of the race! All it took was a little googling, what with you all over the local news from your _psychic detective_ business... But honestly, probably nothing would've come from that if you hadn't just—I dunno, maybe I'm just extra perceptive... but you looked _way_ too friendly with that cop."

Tommy tightens his lips and shakes his head, and Shawn is almost too busy mentally punching himself for such a stupid mistake to notice that the guy actually seems _jealous_.

That in itself kind of scares him.

"Guess I'm not as good of an actor as I thought," he says, shrugging casually.

Tommy seems to see right through it.

"...I like you, Shawn. I don't _want_ to hurt you or your friend, but... sometimes you gotta do things you don't wanna do. Hell, I liked Max plenty! But what can I say, I'm a pragmatist." With that, Tommy leans in close and lowers his voice. "I just hope for your sake that you are, too."

In a fashion that Shawn _wishes_ he could say wasn't sweet, or at least was something he couldn't possibly have backed away from, Tommy leans down another few inches to kiss him on the cheek.

Then he straightens up and twists around, motioning for Shawn to follow.

"Faster you get the lamborghini, the sooner you see your friend again!"

 

*

 

The very first thing he does is go straight to Lassiter and Juliet, tell them everything that happened (as far as Gus saw), and tell them to get squad cars to wait at least 3 miles down the road from the address Tommy gave him. And, of course, that he needs the lamborghini.

After all this time he's sure he can trust them to treat him like a fellow officer in a situation like this—even Lassie. _Especially_ Lassie.

(This wouldn't be the first time he's gotten a vehicle out of the impound for him.)

In no less than half an hour, Shawn pulls up outside of the warehouse in a car that would be extremely thrilling to drive in any other situation.

Tommy's clapping when he gets out.

" _That_ was quick. Guys at impound must not have been paying attention."

"No, they were. Then I busted out the Rice Krispies Treats. It's like flypaper, man." He's barely even trying, really, but Tommy's laughing like it's the funniest thing he ever heard. "Seriously, those things are _really_ sticky... Where's Gus?"

"This guy's always entertaining, you know?" Tommy says to his boys, beaming. "I'm gonna miss that."

God, just a couple days ago that grin had him head over heels.

"Save your compliments, Tommy," Shawn spits, before he can feel that way again.

"...Toss me the keys."

"Gus _first_."

"I'm in here, let me out!" comes Gus's voice, slightly muffled.

"Seriously, dudes? There's plenty of room in this car, why'd you have to put him in the trunk?"

When he does get out, Gus furiously brushes himself off before running to Shawn's side. Tommy follows, gun now aimed at them, and once again demands Shawn tosses him the keys.

If only for the sake of drama, Shawn hesitates.

"I like you, Shawn," he repeats from earlier, "but I will kill you."

He believes it, so he listens, and he and Gus step away while Tommy checks out the interior and finds the tracker that he watched Lassiter put in earlier. He _told_ him that Tommy was smart and that it was pointless, and it looks like he was right.

After Tommy tells Stig and Juice Box to scatter, he turns back to Shawn.

"You know, I was serious when I said it would be good to have a guy like you come along."

Shawn resists the urge to glance at Gus, who wasn't there when Tommy said that, and who still has no idea what he and Tommy were _doing_ when he said that.

"...You should come with us," Tommy says. His eyes are moist and his face is flushed and his chest is heaving—if pressed, Shawn would say he looks desperate. Like he's begging. "Come on, you got the kamikaze in you, I can _smell_ it."

If Gus ever brings it up, he will deny it to his grave, but he can't lie to himself for a second—he considers it. For a split second he _does_ , he thinks of how Tommy's lifestyle is everything he ever dreamt of before becoming a fake psychic, and how quickly and easily he became infatuated, and how Tommy has undeniably caught similarly if not _more_ intense feelings...

And then he remembers that it's only been three days. Shawn will almost certainly remember Tommy forever, but nothing they've had _compares_ to the family he's fostered in Santa Barbara before knowing him.

 _Maybe_ if they met before he called in that tip to the SBPD and had that fateful idea to pretend to be psychic to avoid jail, before he re-ignited his and Gus's bromance, before he met Juliet, before he got to know _Lassie_...

But it's about four years too late.

"It's not the kamikaze." Shawn shakes his head and tries not to notice how genuinely upset Tommy looks. "It's CK One. It's for men and women. And you know what, you—you're full of it, man! God's greatest gift is not adrenaline, it's _friendship_. I would never do anything to hurt Gus, even _if_ he betrayed me. And he feels the same way about me."

Gus seems to think that that's a good time to make a sound of disagreement, but Shawn doesn't focus on it anyway. He's looking at Tommy, who damn near looks like he wants to cry.

"...Have it your way," is the last thing he says before closing the door on them and driving away.

 

* * *

 

Vegetables in the tail pipe. Fucking ingenious.

The weird part about it, though, is that with Tommy actually caught and in holding and inevitably going to trial and then prison... this all feels anticlimactic as hell. It's probably shitty of him to think so, but Tommy getting to 200 and dying, or even getting away with everything, would have felt like much better conclusions.

But life isn't a movie, he supposes. Life especially isn't _Point Break_ , no matter how much he'd like it to be.

The next day, Shawn shows up at the station to get his check for this case. Nowadays he has to go through his dad to do that, which is a little frustrating, but often faster than it was otherwise.

Now, when Henry hands it to him, he pauses, frowns, and grabs Shawn by the chin to turn his head.

" _Ow_ _—_ Dad, what—?"

"Where the hell'd you get a bruise like that? One of those street racers sock you in the jaw?"

"I'm not _thirteen_ anymore, Dad, I—"

"Actually, that's on me," comes Lassiter's voice as he walks up, hands in his pockets. If Shawn didn't know better, he'd say the guy felt guilty.

Before Henry can yell like he looks like he's about to, Shawn jerks out of his grip and tells him,

"Don't get your depends in a bunch—I gave Lassie express permission to do it."

Now his dad is staring _bewildered_ between them, expression getting more and more twisted with the second, like he's about to ask a question that none of them want to hear or answer—so Shawn breaks the incredibly awkward silence yet again.

"You know, Lassie, you only had to punch hard enough to make it look _real_ , not dislocate my jaw."

"If I dislocated your jaw, you wouldn't be talking."

"Then maybe you should've," his dad mutters. Lassiter smirks at that, but only for a half second.

"...Regardless, Lassie, I am now stuck with this big, gross bruise—which doesn't look or feel _nearly_ as cool as I imagined, by the way—for the next week or so. So thanks for that."

"Oh, _please_ ," Lassiter scoffs, his eyes mostly on Shawn's bruise. "I specifically punched you in a way that wouldn't break your precious cheekbones, or your nose, or cause any other lasting damage. You _should_ be thanking me."

Shawn blinks, and his heartbeat seems to skip. _Oh._

He really, absolutely _should_ , he thinks. Hell, he's _amazed_ that Lassie actively thought to preserve his features—really, to not hurt him more than he had to. Now that he thinks about it, though... he can't have ever truly believed that Lassie's annoyance with him extended to violence, or that his threats were anything but hollow.

He honestly has to wonder if this has anything to do with what Tommy said about him being " _way too friendly with that cop_."

"Maybe I will," Shawn says—then pouts and points to his bruise. "If you kiss it better."

Instead of just looking annoyed or flustered and walking away, Lassiter simply purses his lips, raises a hand to Shawn's jaw, and turns his head a bit, evidently to get a better look at the bruise like his dad did. This time Shawn doesn't jerk away, even as his face gets hot.

Not even as Lassiter briefly brushes his thumb over a tender spot. He does wince, though, at which Lassiter pulls his hand away, and then looks like his own face is getting hot.

"...You'll live, Spencer."

Lassie walks back to his desk, and Shawn promptly grabs his check from his dad, avoiding eye-contact as much as he can. Doesn't seem like Henry cares for it at the moment, either.

A minute later, as leaving the station, he retracts his earlier thought about this case being anticlimactic.

**Author's Note:**

> Tommy was SO in love with Shawn and absolutely no one can tell me otherwise. Honestly, writing this and watching all the scenes multiple times made me realize how fucking obvious and _blatant_ their romance - however brief - was. 
> 
> Also, yeah, I know the line is canonically "Ronald Reagan was a terrible president," but I'm ignoring that. It's bullshit that a canonically pansexual character would worship a president who was literally complicit in the death of an entire generation of queer men. I won't accept it, and as far as I'm concerned, all instances of Lassiter worshiping Reagan are replaced with Lincoln.


End file.
